Delphi Collected Works of Max Brand US

by Max Brand

  “I think you got me here to trap me, Dunbar,” he called in such a voice that the little man in the shadow thrilled at the sound of it, “but you’ll find that you’re trapped first, my friend. Touch that gun of yours, and you’re a dead man, Dunbar. Curse you, I dare you to go for it!”

  Could this be Bull Hunter speaking? The little man in the shadow thrilled with joyous amazement.

  Hal Dunbar evidently was going to fight the thing through. He stood swaying a little from side to side. “No guns out, boys, as yet. Wait till I take my crack at him, and then—”

  The little man in the shadow stepped out into the light and walked calmly toward the center of the room.

  “Just a little wee minute, Dunbar,” he was saying. “Just a little wee minute, Mr. Man-trapper Dunbar! I got a word to say.”

  “Who the devil are you?” cried Hal Dunbar, turning on this puny stranger.

  A joyous shout from Bull Hunter drowned the answer of the other.

  “Pete! Pete Reeve!”

  The little man waved his hand carelessly to the giant in the corner.

  “You give me a hard trail, Bull, old boy. But you didn’t think you could slip me, did you? Not much. And here I am, pretty pronto on the dot, I figure.” He took in with a glance the men along the walls. “You know me, boys, and I’m here to see fair play. They ain’t going to be fair play in this room with you boys lined up waiting to drop Bull in case he plugs Dunbar. Dunbar, I know you. And between you and me, I don’t know no good of you. You’re young, but you’re going to show later on. If you want to talk business to Bull Hunter some other time, you’re welcome to come finding him, and he won’t be hard to find. Bull, come along with me. Just back up, if you don’t mind, Bull. Because they’s murder in our friend Dunbar’s face. And here we are!”

  Side by side they drew back to the outer door with big Hal Dunbar watching them from under a scowl, with never a word, and so through the door and into the night.

  Two minutes later Diablo was rocking across the hills with his mighty stride, and the cow pony of Pete Reeve was pattering beside him.

  As they drove through the great spruces the moon rose. Bull Hunter greeted it with a thundering song and threw up his hands to it.

  Pete Reeve swore softly in amazement and drew his horse to a walk.

  “By the Lord,” cried Bull, “and I haven’t thanked you yet for pulling me out of that mess. I’d be crow’s food by this time if it hadn’t been for you, Pete!”

  “That only wipes out one score. Let’s talk about you, Bull. Since I last seen you, you’ve got to be a man. Was it dropping Hood that made you buck up like this?”

  “That old man?”

  “That old man,” snorted Pete, “is Jack Hood, one of the best of ’em with a gun. But if it wasn’t the fight that made you feel your oats, was it breaking Diablo?”

  “No breaking to it. We just got acquainted.”

  “But what’s happened? What’s wakened you, Bull?”

  “I dunno,” said Bull and became thoughtful.

  “Pete,” he said, after a long time, “have you ever noticed a sort of chill that gets inside you when the right sort of a girl smiles and—”

  “The devil,” murmured Pete Reeve, “it’s the girl that’s happened to you, eh? You forget her, Bull. I’m going to take you on the trail with me and keep you from thinking. It’s a new trail for me, Bull. It’s a trail where I’m going straight, I can’t take you with me while I’m playing against the law. So I’m going to stay inside the law — with you.”

  “Maybe,” and Bull Hunter sighed. “But no matter how far the trail leads, I’m thinking that some day I’ll ride in a circle and come back to this place where we started out together.”

  He turned in the saddle.

  The outline of the Dunbar house was fading into the night.

  Donnegan (Gunman’s Reckoning) (1921)

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 1

  THE FIFTY EMPTY freights danced and rolled and rattled on the rough road bed and filled Jericho Pass with thunder; the big engine was laboring and grunting at the grade, but five cars back the noise of the locomotive was lost. Yet there is a way to talk above the noise of a freight train just as there is a way to whistle into the teeth of a stiff wind. This freight-car talk is pitched just above the ordinary tone — it is an overtone of conversation, one might say — and it is distinctly nasal. The brakie could talk above the racket, and so, of course, could Lefty Joe. They sat about in the center of the train, on the forward end of one of the cars. No matter how the train lurched and staggered over that fearful road bed, these two swayed in their places as easily and as safely as birds on swinging perches. The brakie had touched Lefty Joe for two dollars; he had secured fifty cents; and since the vigor of Lefty’s oaths had convinced him that this was all the money the tramp had, the two now sat elbow to elbow and killed the distance with their talk.

  “It’s like old times to have you here,” said the brakie. “You used to play this line when you jumped from coast to coast.”

  “Sure,” said Lefty Joe, and he scowled at the mountains on either side of the pass. The train was gathering speed, and the peaks lurched eastward in a confused, ragged procession. “And a durned hard ride it’s been many a time.”

  “Kind of queer to see you,” continued the brakie. “Heard you was rising in the world.”

  He caught the face of the other with a rapid side glance, but Lefty Joe was sufficiently concealed by the dark.

  “Heard you were the main guy with a whole crowd behind you,” went on the brakie.

  “Yeh?”

  “Sure. Heard you was riding the cushions, and all that.”

  “Yeh?”

  “But I guess it was all bunk; here you are back again, anyway.”

  “Yep,” agreed Lefty.

  The brakie scratched his head, for the silence of the tramp convinced him that there had been, after all, a good deal of truth in the rumor. He ran back on another tack and slipped about Lefty.

  “I never laid much on what they said,” he averred. “I know you, Lefty; you can do a lot, but when it comes to leading a whole gang, like they said you was, and all that — well, I knew it was a lie. Used to tell ’em that.”

  “You talked foolish, then,” burst out Lefty suddenly. “It was all straight.”

  The brakie could hear the click of his companion’s teeth at the period to this statement, as though he regretted his outburst.

  “Well, I’ll be hanged,” murmured the brakie innocently.

  Ordinarily, Lefty was not easily lured, but this night he apparently was in the mood for talk.

  “Kennebec Lou, the Clipper, and Suds. Them and a lot more. They was all with me; they was all under me; I was the Main Guy!”

  What a ring in his voice as he said it! The beaten genera
l speaks thus of his past triumphs. The old man remembered his youth in such a voice. The brakie was impressed; he repeated the three names.

  “Even Suds?” he said. “Was even Suds with you?”

  “Even Suds!”

  The brakie stirred a little, wobbling from side to side as he found a more comfortable position; instead of looking straight before him, he kept a side-glance steadily upon his companion, and one could see that he intended to remember what was said on this night.

  “Even Suds,” echoed the brakie. “Good heavens, and ain’t he a man for you?”

  “He was a man,” replied Lefty Joe with an indescribable emphasis.

  “Huh?”

  “He ain’t a man any more.”

  “Get bumped off?”

  “No. Busted.”

  The brakie considered this bit of news and rolled it back and forth and tried its flavor against his gossiping palate.

  “Did you fix him after he left you?”

  “No.”

  “I see. You busted him while he was still with you. Then Kennebec Lou and the Clipper get sore at the way you treat Suds. So here you are back on the road with your gang all gone bust. Hard luck, Lefty.”

  But Lefty whined with rage at this careless diagnosis of his downfall.

  “You’re all wrong,” he said. “You’re all wrong. You don’t know nothin’.”

  The brakie waited, grinning securely into the night, and preparing his mind for the story. But the story consisted of one word, flung bitterly into the rushing air.

  “Donnegan!”

  “Him?” cried the brakie, starting in his place.

  “Donnegan!” cried Lefty, and his voice made the word into a curse.

  The brakie nodded.

  “Them that get tangled with Donnegan don’t last long. You ought to know that.”

  At this the grief, hate, and rage in Lefty Joe were blended and caused an explosion.

  “Confound Donnegan. Who’s Donnegan? I ask you, who’s Donnegan?”

  “A guy that makes trouble,” replied the brakie, evidently hard put to it to find a definition.

  “Oh, don’t he make it, though? Confound him!”

  “You ought to of stayed shut of him, Lefty.”

  “Did I hunt him up, I ask you? Am I a nut? No, I ain’t. Do I go along stepping on the tail of a rattlesnake? No more do I look up Donnegan.”

  He groaned as he remembered.

  “I was going fine. Nothing could of been better. I had the boys together. We was doing so well that I was riding the cushions and I went around planning the jobs. Nice, clean work. No cans tied to it. But one day I had to meet Suds down in the Meriton Jungle. You know?”

  “I’ve heard — plenty,” said the brakie.

  “Oh, it ain’t so bad — the Meriton. I’ve seen a lot worse. Found Suds there, and Suds was playing Black Jack with an ol gink. He was trimmin’ him close. Get Suds going good and he could read ’em three down and bury ’em as fast as they came under the bottom card. Takes a hand to do that sort of work. And that’s the sort of work Suds was doing for the old man. Pretty soon the game was over and the old man was busted. He took up his pack and beat it, saying nothing and looking sick. I started talking to Suds.

  “And while he was talking, along comes a bo and gives us a once-over. He knew me. ‘Is this here a friend of yours, Lefty? he says.

  “‘Sure,’ says I.

  “‘Then, he’s in Dutch. He trimmed that old dad, and the dad is one of Donnegan’s pals. Wait till Donnegan hears how your friend made the cards talk while he was skinning the old boy!

  “He passes me the wink and goes on. Made me sick. I turned to Suds, and the fool hadn’t batted an eye. Never even heard of Donnegan. You know how it is? Half the road never heard of it; part of the roads don’t know nothin’ else. He’s like a jumpin tornado; hits every ten miles and don’t bend a blade of grass in between.

  “Took me about five minutes to tell Suds about Donnegan. Then Suds let out a grunt and started down the trail for the old dad. Missed him. Dad had got out of the Jungle and copped a rattler. Suds come back half green and half yeller.

  “‘I’ve done it; I’ve spilled the beans,’ he says.

  “‘That ain’t half sayin’ it,’ says I.

  “Well, we lit out after that and beat it down the line as fast as we could. We got the rest of the boys together; I had a swell job planned up. Everything staked. Then, the first news come that Donnegan was after Suds.

  “News just dropped on us out of the sky. Suds, you know how he is. Strong bluff. Didn’t bat an eye. Laughed at this Donnegan. Got a hold of an old pal of his, named Levine, and he is a mighty hot scrapper. From a knife to a toenail, they was nothing that Levine couldn’t use in a fight. Suds sent him out to cross Donnegan’s trail.

  “He crossed it, well enough. Suds got a telegram a couple days later saying that Levine had run into a wild cat and was considerable chawed and would Suds send him a stake to pay the doctor?

  “Well, after that Suds got sort of nervous. Didn’t take no interest in his work no more. Kept a weather eye out watching for the coming of Donnegan. And pretty soon he up and cleaned out of camp.

  “Next day, sure enough, along comes Donnegan and asks for Suds. We kept still — all but Kennebec Lou. Kennebec is some fighter himself. Two hundred pounds of mule muscle with the brain of a devil to tell what to do — yes, you can lay it ten to one that Kennebec is some fighter. That day he had a good edge from a bottle of rye he was trying for a friend.

  “He didn’t need to go far to find trouble in Donnegan. A wink and a grin was all they needed for a password, and then they went at each other’s throats. Kennebec made the first pass and hit thin air; and before he got back on his heels, Donnegan had hit him four times. Then Kennebec jumped back and took a fresh start with a knife.”

  Here Lefty Joe paused and sighed.

  He continued, after a long interval: “Five minutes later we was all busy tyin’ up what was left of Kennebec; Donnegan was down the road whistlin’ like a bird. And that was the end of my gang. What with Kennebec Lou and Suds both gone, what chance did I have to hold the boys together?”

  CHAPTER 2

  THE BRAKIE HEARD this recital with the keenest interest, nodding from time to time.

  “What beats me, Lefty,” he said at the end of the story, “is why you didn’t knife into the fight yourself and take a hand with Donnegan”

  At this Lefty was silent. It was rather the silence of one which cannot tell whether or not it is worth while to speak than it was the silence of one who needs time for thought.

  “I’ll tell you why, bo. It’s because when I take a trail like that it only has one end I’m going to bump off the other bird or he’s going to bump off me”

  The brakie cleared his throat

  “Look here,” he said, “looks to me like a queer thing that you’re on this train”

  “Does it” queried Lefty softly “Why?”

  “Because Donnegan is two cars back, asleep.”

  “The devil you say!”

  The brakie broke into laughter

  “Don’t kid yourself along,” he warned. “Don’t do it. It ain’t wise — with me.”

  “What you mean?”

  “Come on, Lefty. Come clean. You better do a fade off this train.”

  “Why, you fool—”

  “It don’t work, Joe. Why, the minute I seen you I knew why you was here. I knew you meant to croak Donnegan.”

  “Me croak him? Why should I croak him?”

  “Because you been trailing him two thousand miles. Because you ain’t got the nerve to meet him face to face and you got to sneak in and take a crack at him while he’s lying asleep. That’s you, Lefty Joe!”

  He saw Lefty sway toward him; but, all stories aside, it is a very bold tramp that cares for argument of a serious nature with a brakie. And even Lefty Joe was deterred from violent action. In the darkness his upper lip twitched, but he carefully smoothed his vo
ice.

  “You don’t know nothing, pal,” he declared.

  “Don’t I?”

  “Nothing,” repeated Lefty.

  He reached into his clothes and produced something which rustled in the rush of wind. He fumbled, and finally passed a scrap of the paper into the hand of the brakie.

  “My heavens,” drawled the latter. “D’you think you can fix me with a buck for a job like this? You can’t bribe me to stand around while you bump off Donnegan. Can’t be done, Lefty!”

  “One buck, did you say?”

  Lefty Joe expertly lighted a match in spite of the roaring wind, and by this wild light the brakie read the denomination of the bill with a gasp. He rolled up his face and was in time to catch the sneer on the face of Lefty before a gust snatched away the light of the match.

  They had topped the highest point in Jericho Pass and now the long train dropped into the down grade with terrific speed. The wind became a hurricane. But to the brakie all this was no more than a calm night. His thoughts were raging in him, and if he looked back far enough he remembered the dollar which Donnegan had given him; and how he had promised Donnegan to give the warning before anything went wrong. He thought of this, but rustling against the palm of his right hand was the bill whose denomination he had read, and that figure ate into his memory, ate into his brain.

  After all what was Donnegan to him? What was Donnegan but a worthless tramp? Without any answer to that last monosyllabic query, the brakie hunched forward, and began to work his way up the train.

  The tramp watched him go with laughter. It was silent laughter. In the most quiet room it would not have sounded louder than a continual, light hissing noise. Then he, in turn, moved from his place, and worked his way along the train in the opposite direction to that in which the brakie had disappeared.

  He went expertly, swinging from car to car with apelike clumsiness — and surety. Two cars back. It was not so easy to reach the sliding side door of that empty car. Considering the fact that it was night, that the train was bucking furiously over the old roadbed, Lefty had a not altogether simple task before him. But he managed it with the same apelike adroitness. He could climb with his feet as well as his hands. He would trust a ledge as well as he would trust the rung of a ladder.